Wild Country

Tolya continued to study the women as rest of the Sanguinati arrived and filled the chairs.

Virgil replied without hesitation. Then he did hesitate.

Not how he would have described it, but it matched his thinking. Jana must already know what Barbara Ellen wanted to tell them—and she was keeping watch instead of standing with her friend.

Virgil said, finishing the thought.

Even in the picture, Deputy Jana had been keeping watch.

Tolya looked around and realized one of them was still missing.

Tolya didn’t smile. Did. Not. Smile. He did, however, find it fascinating that the Wolves displayed such a high tolerance for certain humans. He couldn’t imagine Virgil or Kane allowing any other child to brush them to make them pretty. Maybe it was Becky Gott’s simplicity and innocence. Maybe Wolfgard young—at least the ones who were able to shift to human form—did the same kinds of things as a way to learn. He’d probably never know, but he did understand that every human Virgil tolerated made him a more dangerous threat to the rest of the humans because he was taking them into his pack—and having lost one pack, he would kill anything that threatened this new one.

Tolya said, “Shall we begin?” When they all nodded—all except the three human women—he focused on Barbara Ellen. “There is something you need to tell us?”

Barbara Ellen looked around the room, just as he had a moment ago. But her skin was so pale now, the freckles were the only color left in her face.

“I didn’t expect . . . I thought . . .” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Can I tell it as a story?”

“This is a teaching story?” Virgil asked, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his thighs.

“A family story to impart information rather than entertain,” Jana replied.

All the terra indigene nodded. Tolya wondered if the females understood how closely their words would be heeded. Entertainment, if not appealing to an individual, could be ignored. A teaching story never was.

Barbara Ellen glanced at Abigail. So. This story was not about Barbara Ellen or her family. She was the designated teller—but had Jana helped shape the information into a teaching story to make sure he and Virgil heard what they needed to hear?

“Once upon a time,” Barbara Ellen began, “there was a young Intuit girl who came from a family of gamblers and swindlers. Being Intuits, the gamblers used their abilities to sense things that were tied into their skill with cards and other games of chance. They knew when to bet and when to fold—and sometimes they cheated by folding when they could have won a hand so that the people playing with them wouldn’t start to wonder about why they won so much. And the swindlers always sensed who would be most vulnerable to whatever con they were playing.

“Sometimes they worked different swindles in the same town or split up and worked in a couple of towns close to each other. Sometimes the whole family would work one con. But they always stayed in touch and they always left the area around the same time because moving around was safer—and because there was less chance that one of the youngsters might say something that made a mark realize he was dealing with Intuits.

“See, their being Intuits was the big family secret, the thing you could never ever tell anyone else.” Barbara Ellen looked around the room. “You could never tell. And if you were a part of the family, you could never leave.”

“And if you did leave?” Tolya asked softly.

“Death,” Abigail whispered, her blue eyes blind and staring. “If you’re out of the life, there’s always the chance you’ll snitch on the rest of them, so . . . death.”

Barbara Ellen resumed the story. “The girl’s Intuit gift was unusual. Some people believe that gemstones of all kinds have healing or magical properties and can help the person who wears them. But the girl knew exactly which stone would resonate with a particular person. Even if a hundred stones were on a table, she could tell which one truly suited a person and would bring good things, positive things, into that person’s life—or help keep bad things away. But just as some stones would be good for a person, other stones would open a person up to bad things. Sometimes little things, like spilling coffee on your shirt just before an important meeting or missing out on having lunch with a friend because your car had a flat tire. Little things, day after day. And not so little things. Like sitting down at a poker table and gambling away your family’s life savings.

“The girl and her uncle had a particular part to play in the rest of the family’s endeavors. They would rent a booth at a fair or an open market. The uncle would repair jewelry and clean jewelry while the girl did the patter about choosing a stone for luck or love or good fortune. Some of them were tumbled stones you would keep in a bowl while others had a hole through them so they could be strung on a cord or a gold or silver chain—which the uncle would sell to the mark. And because the girl was young and pretty, people never suspected they were being cheated in some way.

“The thing was, if the uncle had a feeling the mark had money or something else of use to the family, he would signal the girl to select a dissonant stone—something that would sour the person’s life in some way and make them vulnerable. And the girl did it because she was young and they were her family and she depended on them for her survival. So someone would carry his ‘lucky’ stone into the saloon where the girl’s father was playing poker—and end up owing so much to all the players at the table that he would be ruined financially. Or a woman would wear a necklace that was supposed to bring her good fortune and end up being dragged into an alley where she’d be roughed up—and sometimes worse—before having her purse stolen.

“The girl didn’t understand these things when she was young, but when she reached her teens and realized what happened to the people who were given bad stones . . .”

“She ran away,” Abigail whispered. “She kept running and hiding, choosing places too small to be of interest to the family, or hiding in larger cities, doing whatever work she could to get by. She was in one of those cities when she met a kind man who fell in love with her. She married him but she was too afraid to tell him the truth about her abilities or her past, and when he found out, he . . . didn’t love her anymore.”

Tolya noticed Barbara Ellen’s face settling into a tiny frown—noticed Deputy Jana’s sharp look. he said to the rest of the terra indigene.

Yuri asked.

Virgil replied.

Tolya said.

A tear ran down Abigail’s face. “They’ll come here. On the train. Her father likes to travel by train. Sooner or later, they’ll come. To gamble, to plunder. To kill. They’ll come.” She was still telling a story instead of admitting she was talking about herself.

“What are these humans called?” Tolya asked.

“Blackstone. They’re the Blackstone Clan.”

Abigail and Barbara Ellen leaned against each other, exhausted. And Jana?

he asked Virgil.

Virgil replied.

“Thank you for this story,” Tolya said, addressing the humans. “You have given us many important things to consider.” More than you realize. “I hope you can put this aside now and enjoy the rest of your day off.”

“We’re all helping Kenneth and Evan at their house,” Jana said with a strained smile. “Today’s plan is to haul the rest of the personal belongings out of the house so the cleaners can come in later this morning and scrub it from top to bottom. Then we’ll give the children’s bedrooms a fresh coat of paint.”

Tolya thought that sounded like an appalling way to spend a day off, but he smiled since he was pretty sure that was the correct thing to do. “Then we won’t keep you any longer.”

The terra indigene waited until the humans left the conference room. Then they all looked at each other before Tolya turned to Virgil. “Black stones. Blackstones.”

Virgil nodded. “Looks like the Hope pup was right about that too.”

“Walker’s General Store, Jesse speaking.”

“Jesse Walker, this is—”

Recognizing Tolya’s voice, Jesse focused on the new member of her family and said firmly, “Down, Cutie.”

A beat of silence. “I beg your pardon?”

His tone of voice, somewhere between bewildered and insulted, made her laugh. “I was talking to the puppy. She’s in her pen”—Jesse took the couple of steps needed to reach the pen and quiet the puppy, who had been trying to climb out to be closer to her—“and has to stay there.” To make sure the pup did, she crouched beside the pen and began petting.

Another beat of silence. “You named her Cutie?”

“Are you going to tell Virgil?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Now he sounded horrified.

“Her official name is Cory Walker, but Rachel insists on calling her Cutie-pup or Cutie for short.”

“Rachel Wolfgard named the puppy?”

“She did.”

Tolya sighed, a long exhalation.

Jesse’s humor faded when she realized she’d stopped petting the puppy and now had her right hand wrapped around her aching left wrist. “You didn’t call to ask about the puppy.”

“No, I called to ask if you had heard of the Blackstone Clan. They’re a family of Intuit gamblers and swindlers.”

A chill went through Jesse. “I’ve never heard of them. Why have you?”

“Abigail Burch is from that family and says she has been hiding from them for many years now. She believes they’ll kill her if they find her.”

Jesse’s hand tightened around the wrist that now throbbed as a confirmation of Tolya’s words, and remembered the drawing Hope Wolfsong had made that showed Abigail dead. “They will.” She thought about Abigail, who had made soaps and candles and worn old-fashioned dresses and read tarot cards—and who had hidden her real self so well even Jesse hadn’t sensed the truth about her.

“Apparently she can sense if a particular stone will bring a person good luck or bad,” Tolya said. “This is an unusual skill?”

“Yes.” Being able to bring about a run of bad luck would certainly benefit gamblers and swindlers.

Cutie started yapping, craving attention. Or needing something else. “Tolya? I’ll call you back.” Jesse hung up, grabbed Cutie and a leash, and rushed through the back of the store and out the door. She walked the pup for a few minutes, letting Cutie become familiar with the scents and land behind the store.

An excuse, to give herself time to think before she called Tolya.

Had the soaps and candles and long dresses and tarot cards been Abigail’s attempt to reinvent herself and get away from a corrupt life, or had it all been a disguise? Oh, Jesse was sure the girl had had reason to hide, but she also had a feeling that everyone in Prairie Gold had been played—and now she wondered if Abigail had moved to Bennett to try to patch things up with Kelley or to get away from her, an Intuit who sensed people and would no longer accept the disguise at face value? Was giving Tolya this information about the Blackstone Clan just a piece of a game?

She didn’t want to be responsible for the girl being driven out of town, especially if Abigail really was trying to make a fresh start. But if Abigail had a different agenda, what sort of damage could she do in a mixed community where she would find marks for a different kind of con?

Or had she already found some?

In small Intuit communities—and most of their communities were small, given that they were tucked away in the wild country—there was almost no crime beyond occasional mischief and the rare times when an individual snapped without warning and did grievous harm to someone. That didn’t mean all Intuits were good people. It didn’t mean their kind of human didn’t spawn liars and thieves. It just meant that kind of person didn’t prosper in an Intuit community. Couldn’t prosper. But in other communities where you could hide what you were and use your extra sense to do unlawful deeds?

There had been Intuits who had done such things. Maybe the most successful outlaws who had lived a century ago had been Intuits who sensed what to rob and when—and sensed when it was time to retire and become something else. Maybe they got married and raised children and quietly taught their sons and daughters skills that were outside of polite society. And maybe there were some of those progeny even now who knew when to move on and let the marks recover before coming back around, like some kind of outlaw migration.

A family of gamblers and thieves. A clan, Tolya called it. No, she’d never heard of the Blackstones, but she had a very bad feeling about what would happen in Bennett when the next member of that clan showed up.

Virgil helped haul boxes into the two vans while he tried to decide if he could justifiably snarl at Deputy Jana for not telling him about the Blackstone humans yesterday when she’d first found out about them. Except he’d known about humans made of black stones days before Jana arrived in Bennett and hadn’t shown her the picture the Hope pup had drawn.

Was he just as wrong for not telling? More wrong? No. Not more wrong.

He snarled and felt his canines lengthen to Wolf size—and watched one of the salvage humans stumble away from the van, dropping a box as the man fled back into the house.

Moments later, Jana rushed out of the house. Of course the wolverine would come rushing out to puff up and snarl.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Larry said something about teeth and is pretty freaked-out.”

Virgil bared his teeth.

Jana almost took a step back, then took a step forward, kicking the box, which, from the sound of it, had been full of breakables that were now broken.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, why did you snarl at Larry?”

“I wasn’t snarling at Larry; I was snarling about you.”

“What did I do?”

That tone was a challenge to his dominance. It really was. If he was certain she was the one who was more wrong, he’d bite her—but he’d use his mostly human teeth. Those wouldn’t hurt her as much, but enough.

And if she bit him in retaliation?

He shoved his box deeper into the van, then swung around her to fetch another one that wasn’t full of broken things. As he passed her, he growled, “You’re confusing the puppy.”

Jana threw her hands in the air. Why? Who knew? It was one of those weird things humans did.

“How?” she yelped. “Why? She’s not even here!”

As he walked into the living room, Virgil heard a box full of broken things being thrown into the van—and he smiled.

Jana stood under a cool shower, washing away dirt and sweat. They’d done a lot of good, hard work today, and tomorrow Evan and Kenneth’s family would move out of the hotel and into their new house—where it was less likely that Maddie would be seen by someone who would realize what she was and see nothing but profit.

The day had wrung her out. Not just the physical work, and not just the niggle of doubt about some of the details in Abigail Burch’s story, but the gnawing sense of guilt that maybe she was confusing the puppy. She needed to have a firm idea of what she wanted to accomplish with—and for—Rusty and then find out how to do that. And once she figured that out, she had to convince the big bad Wolves to follow her rules when it came to her dog, or poor Rusty would get caught in the middle of mom-and-dad squabbles about how to raise the kid.

Gods. Perish the thought of Virgil in that role. Except . . . he was the sheriff and that made him the dominant enforcer in the town and that made him the dominant Wolf in the town. Or maybe being the dominant enforcer was the reason he’d been given the job of sheriff. Whatever. The point was that she and Virgil had to agree on how to oversee Rusty’s education.

She was so not looking forward to that discussion. But she didn’t have to think about it for the rest of the day. She would take Rusty for a walk and then some playtime in the backyard. But right now, all she wanted was some food and a glass of beer. Or a large whiskey. Or . . .

Even under the water, she heard the howls coming from her neighbors down the street.

. . . a sledgehammer.

She turned off the water, dried off as quickly as she could, and threw on some clothes when she heard Rusty howling in the living room—and heard Buddy the parakeet making a loud scoldy noise that was either the parakeet version of a howl or an objection to the sound Rusty was making.

“Hey, girl,” Jana said as she moved toward the dog.

Rusty looked at Jana, wagged her tail, and howled again—and was answered by Virgil, Kane, and John.

Jana grabbed the leash from the basket near Rusty’s crate and snapped it on the dog’s collar—just in case Rusty tried to go through the screen door to join the Wolves.

“We are here,” Barb said, walking out of the kitchen.

Jana studied her housemate. “And . . . ?”

“I think that’s the message. We are here. The Wolves in the Lakeside Courtyard would howl at night and my brother said that was the message. Or one of the reasons they howled.”

“Who were they telling?” She didn’t think the humans who lived in Lakeside were that thrilled to know the Others were close enough to be heard.

A howl. A sound so deep Jana felt it vibrate in her bones and freeze her blood. A huge sound.

A second howl. A third. So close the windows rattled.

“Hold her,” Jana said.

Barb rushed forward to grab the leash. “Don’t go out there. Humans shouldn’t go out there.”

“I’m a cop.” She wanted to run into her bedroom and grab her weapon, but she wasn’t dressed like a cop, wasn’t going about official business—and she didn’t think that whatever was outside would notice if she pinned a badge to her T-shirt. It would notice the gun—and kill her for carrying a human weapon.

All right, then. She had faced down a few bullies at the academy with nothing but attitude; she could do it here too.

After checking that Barb had a tight grip on Rusty, Jana slipped outside and walked into the street just as the Wolfgard answered those deep, terrifying howls—and were answered in turn.

How close were those things? What were they? Elders, sure. But what did that mean? They were howling, so . . . gigantic Wolves? Or something that howled but was even older and more primal than the Wolfgard?

She didn’t know—and understood on a gut level that she couldn’t know and survive. She also understood something else. The humans living in Bennett needed some way to know the boundaries, needed to know where the lines were now drawn that separated streets that were within the jurisdiction of the police and town government from the streets that were in the wild country and were under the jurisdiction of them.

“Virgil?” Jana called softly, hoping her voice wouldn’t carry much beyond the Wolves.

He turned to face her. Kane and John continued to face the direction of the Elder Hills.

“We need to talk about some things tomorrow,” Jana said.

He made a sound she took to be agreement.

She nodded. “Okay, then.” She looked toward the Elder Hills and saw nothing—and wondered if there was an Elder in its true form standing a few yards beyond the boundary, watching her. “Okay.”

Forgoing the walk for the dog’s sake—an excuse Barb didn’t question—Jana and Rusty played in the backyard while Barb put together a simple meal of sandwiches and salad.

Late that evening, as she wrote a short note to Tobias, asking for book recommendations on dog training, she thought about the howling.

We are here. According to Barb, the Wolves meant it as reassurance that they were keeping watch. But the answering howls? We. Are. Here. Should the humans hear that as a reminder or a threat?

The door to the private railroad car opened a finger’s length—enough for the barrel of a gun to be aimed at anyone sitting at the card table. But no gun appeared or was fired. Instead, Judd McCall said, “Parlan?”

“Come in.” Parlan placed the derringer on the table and resumed shuffling a deck of cards. He waited while Judd scanned the public side of the room, then fixed on the door that provided entry into what was, most of the time, his private space.

“Any company waiting for you?” Judd asked.

“No.” When the mood struck, he’d pick up a woman and use her well for a day or so, sometimes even letting her travel with him for a while if she had some interesting—and uninhibited—skills. Plenty of the saloon whores had indicated interest in having him for a night instead of some rough-and-tumble man, but he hadn’t reciprocated the interest lately.

The northern half of the Midwest Region was even more barren than he’d realized in terms of large towns and people who still had money. The southern half still had a few human-controlled cities along the gulf—places where the clan had previously set up shop for a few weeks before moving on—but he hadn’t paid enough attention and hadn’t realized the Midwest Region had been split and they would need another set of travel passes to reach the cities along the gulf.

No, that wasn’t true. He had been paying enough attention ever since that damn war, but people were still discovering the repercussions of the HFL movement trying to wrest control of the land from the Others. And the clan finding themselves in the wrong half of the Midwest Region was one of those repercussions.

He dealt four cards, faceup.

Judd raised an eyebrow. “Blackjack?”

“To pass the time.”

Everyone else in the clan liked to gamble, but some weren’t allowed to gamble outside the clan because they couldn’t always be trusted not to put something on the table that they shouldn’t. But Judd didn’t gamble. Not with cards or dice. And Judd wasn’t what you would call a rough-and-tumble man. He was too damn dangerous for that because Judd McCall liked to gamble with guns and knives. He liked to gamble on how long it might take a man to die from a particular wound.

“Game broke up early?” Judd tapped the table to indicate he wanted another card. “Busted.”

They set those cards aside and Parlan dealt another hand. “The ones who joined the game because it’s Earthday and they were bored and looking for something to do until the train could leave in the morning didn’t have enough cash to see them past a couple of hours of play. And the ones who hoped I’d take markers because they never figured to lay eyes on me again . . . I persuaded them to move along.” He sighed. “Barely making enough to meet expenses since those HFL idiots lost the war.”

“Sometimes you’re the one who floats us . . .” Judd pulled a handkerchief tied up as a bundle out of his coat pocket. “And sometimes another branch of the clan makes the profit.” He untied the bundle.

Parlan set the cards aside and picked up a diamond and emerald necklace. A modest piece. Probably a gift for an important anniversary— or the kind of gift a married man might give his mistress to keep her sweet and believing that he really was going to leave his wife. “Where did you find this?”

“Charlie Webb and Sweeney Cooke reported in. They found another of those hole-in-the-wall towns. They were thinking it might work as a base of operations for some in-and-out jobs, but Charlie noticed that two of the houses were occupied and figured they shouldn’t be touched since he wasn’t sure who, or what, occupied those places. They entered one of the other houses and helped themselves to whatever easily fit in the car. Some cash and jewelry that couldn’t belong to anyone living in that town. A couple of handguns and a rifle, along with ammunition. Clothes and cans of food. Sweeney wanted to do a bit of crazy and smash windows, make a mess, but Charlie calmed him down. Said if they left quiet, they could slip back into town and clean out another house.”

“Good thinking on Charlie’s part.” Parlan dealt cards, not even asking if Judd wanted to hit or stay. “Is Sweeney becoming a problem?”

“Might be. But not yet. I’ll deal with him when the time comes.”

Parlan nodded. “Did Lawry have a look at those?” His brother, Lawry, was their jewelry expert—and their jewel fixer. Lawry always knew which stones could be popped out of a setting and replaced with paste with the mark none the wiser, and could make the switch in the time it took to fix a broken clasp.

“Not yet. He and Dalton went off in a different direction. Heard some rumors about abandoned ranches.” Judd gave Parlan a sharp smile. “Rustling isn’t much fun when there’s no one around to notice the stock is missing.”

“Not practical either unless we already have a market for the animals. Besides, that’s not really our line of work.” Parlan tossed the deck on the table and sat back. “I’ve squeezed dry everyone I can squeeze on this train, and I don’t have the feeling that any fresh marks will be boarding tomorrow. I’ll make arrangements to have my car hitched to the eastbound train with an eye to changing to a southbound line before I reach the Midwest Region’s border.”

“You’re thinking the people coming out here to live might have some cash?”

“No, I’m thinking it’s time to take off the gambler duds, put on my suit, and charm some of the businessmen’s wives by gallantly offering to make up a foursome for bridge. Some of those women have been traveling with their husbands on business for weeks now to escape whatever was happening in their hometowns and are desperate for fresh company. They’ll be a likely source of information about towns that have become nothing more than stops for the train and which ones might have potential for us.” Parlan walked over to a cabinet and opened the drawer that held maps. Taking out the map for the Midwest Region, he returned to the table and opened it.

Judd came around the table to stand beside him. “Not a lot of choices.”

“Not a lot,” Parlan agreed. Some he already knew weren’t more than the station with a few houses and a couple of stores for the railroad employees. And some didn’t have even the employees anymore, despite the hazard pay that went with manning such a place. “Here.” He pointed to a town that had been of modest size before the war and might still be. Not every human place had been decimated, and there was something about that town . . . “We’ll meet up here.”

“Why?”

“It has an east-west connection right across this half of the Midwest. A northern line begins there as well and looks like it runs all the way to the east-west line we’re on now, near the High North border. That kind of loop could be useful to us. And it has roads that will give us even more access to any towns around the area.” Parlan ran his finger along the westbound track to the town located at the northern end of the Elder Hills. “I have a feeling this is where our luck will change.” He tapped the town’s name.

Bennett.